The one thing Fabrio had never considered was just how difficult it was to keep track of things at home while being taught by Loremaster Skosiris. Most of his days were spent either deep in books or trying to form a coherent spell. There were times that he missed Silvermoon and the relaxed days of the chapter house. Anytime he grew too homesick, all it took was one thought of Dawnsorrow and Lightsong snogging in the kitchen to remind him of why he was here.
Today, the loremaster had him translating a Draenic treatise on domestic uses for basic fire magic. It was surprisingly interesting, not for the mundane subject mater, but for what the translation revealed about the culture it came from. The Draenai had the most peculiar relationship with magic.
The pudgy Sin’dorei was struggling over a difficult translation. He enjoyed the challenge of it as much as he enjoyed the feeling of satisfaction as he wrote down the entire sentence One of the librarians touched him on the shoulder. Despite everything, Fabrio let out a squeak of alarm.
“Pardon me.” He said sheepishly, knowing most of the eyes in the library were turned to him. “Is there something I can help…” The man shoved a bundle of letters into his hand and left with a snort of disgust. “Thank you.” Fabrio called after him. He opened a letter and suppressed the urge to rip the weekly account report from Veldarin Lightsong into little tiny pieces.
Taking a deep breath and stealing himself for calm, Fabrio scanned the document. All the accounts looked as if they were being managed appropriately. Of course, the coffers were a little lower than he liked since Dame Firebloom was not contributing as much to the house since she and his cousin were stationed in the Highlands.
At the end was a brief note from Lightsong asking for guidance. Katanya Flamestriker appeared to have moved what few belongings she had left in the House without a word to anyone. The secretary rubbed the bridge of his nose. No surprised that the woman had left the employ of the Order, after all she had been absent more often than not for months. Still, leaving completely without a word seemed sudden. Perhaps Lightsong and Dawnsorrow had grown more bold in their trists? Belore, he had no way to know…
He should go home.
No, he would not leave until he could defend himself, until he could be handed his mail without squawking like a little girl.
Let Lightsong deal with it. He could do simple tasks like cutting of the tailor’s stipend. That is, if he could pull his eyes away from Hammaryn’s chest. The mage apprentice squealed in horror as the papers in his hands burst into bright brilliant flames.
Boobs = Fire?